Which Way Will The Sunflower Turn Surrounded

I Really Would Like To Stop Working Forever–never Work Again, Never Do Anything Like The Kind Of Work I’m Doing Now–and Do Nothing But Write Poetry And Have Leisure To Spend The Day Outdoors And Go To Museums And See Friends. And I’d Like To Keep Living With Someone — Maybe Even A Man — And Explore Relationships That Way. And Cultivate My Perceptions, Cultivate The Visionary Thing In Me. Just A Literary And Quiet City-hermit Existence.

We're Not Our Skin Of Grime, We're Not Our Dread Bleak Dusty Imageless Locomotive, We're All Beautiful Golden Sunflowers Inside, We're Blessed By Our Own Seed & Hairy Naked Accomplishment-bodies Growing Into Mad Black Formal Sunflowers In The Sunset, Spied On By Our Eyes Under The Shadow Of The Mad Locomotive Riverbank Sunset Frisco Hilly Tincan Evening Sitdown Vision.

I'm An Old Man Now, And A Lonesome Man In Kansas / But Not Afraid / To Speak My Lonesomeness In A Car, / Because Not Only My Lonesomeness / It's Ours, All Over America, / O Tender Fellows --/ & Spoken Lonesomeness Is Prophecy / In The Moon 100 Years Ago Or In / The Middle Of Kansas Now.

Naked In Solitary Prison Cell He Looks Down At A Hard-on.

A Poem Is Like A Radio That Can Broadcast Continuously For Thousands Of Years.